


And In The Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat

by thefairfleming



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Isn't it tiring, pretending not to want things all the time?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	And In The Dark, I Can Hear Your Heartbeat

It took the Doctor awhile to find Amy, and when he finally did, he nearly tripped over her. 

“Oi!” she cried as the toe of his boot clipped her elbow.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, drawing his foot back and looking down at the dark mass he now realized was Amy. She was covered in something… blankets? “But, Pond, what are you doing on the ground?”

Amy gave an extravagant sigh, her breath a frosty cloud in the cold night air. She rolled over to look at him, and even in the faint moonlight, there was no mistaking the spark of irritation in her eyes. “I was _trying_ to sleep before a certain bowtie wearing alien attempted to squash me.”

“I was attempting nothing of the sort,” he huffed. “I was looking to see where you’d got off to. There’s a big celebration down in the camp tonight.” Nodding down the hill where hundreds of Pict warriors were gathered, the Doctor added, “I’m told there is going to be some sort of roasted animal, and fires, and mead. You know how much you love mead.”

“I don’t love mead,” Amy grumbled, rolling back over. “It’s just honey that’s gone off. And anyway, I’m not invited to their big pre-war party.”

“What do you mean, not invited? These are your people! The whole reason I brought you here was so that you could experience a proper, Scottish skirmish, and feel…patriotic.”

Another sigh. “These aren’t Scots, Doctor. They’re Picts. There’s a difference. And apparently, red-headed women are considered bad luck in battle.”

“They must not have known many red-headed women, then,” the Doctor muttered, his eyes moving over Amy’s hair. “Rather have one of you on my side in any battle.”

He heard the smile in her voice when she answered, “Thanks. But maybe you should explain that to Chief Blue Face down there.”

“So what, they kicked you out of camp?”

“Yup,” she replied, over-pronouncing her “p” in that way he had grown very fond of. “Told me I could sleep up here. At least they gave me blankets.”

Reaching down, the Doctor patted her gingerly, hoping that was her shoulder and not…anything less neutral. “Pelts, actually,” he said, the fur cold underneath his fingers. “See, that’s not so bad. Lovely night, ground of your homeland beneath you, nice soft dead animals to sleep on, and entire army of Pict soldiers to protect you…,”

Amy flipped onto her back. “You’re going back down there, aren’t you?”

He blinked at her. “Well…yes. Did you hear the part about the mead?”

“You’re going to leave me, freezing to death on a bloody hillside, while you go and drink mead and eat suckling pig, and flirt with hot Picts?”

“I didn’t say it would be a pig. And I never flirt with anyone, Pond. Really, how-"

“No,” she said, pointing at him. “If I have to spend the night up here, so do you.”

“You don’t have to spend the night up here. You can go spend the night safe and sound in the TARDIS.”

“The TARDIS is in the camp. And Chief Blue Face was very insistent that I not set one dainty toe back in camp. There was sword-rattling. And spitting.”

“Well. In that case, I’ll just pop back down there and get it, and then I can bring it back up _here_ , and-,”

“And take the chance of you getting distracted and forgetting all about me?” Amy snorted. “I don’t think so, Raggedy Man. Besides, I’m turning into a giant ginger ice lolly.” She scooted over a little, and he saw that there was another fur underneath her. “Here. Lie down.”

The Doctor hesitated, swallowing hard. His gaze darted from Amy down to the camp and then back again. “Aha!” he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “You’re cold! Which is hardly surprising seeing as how your skirt is quite…anyway, you know what you need?”

“For you to stop babbling and lie down already?

Ignoring that, the Doctor slipped his jacket off his shoulders. “You need a nice bit of tweed to warm you up,” he said, crouching down to drape the jacket over Amy. He had just settled on her back when she reached out, grabbed his braces, and yanked. 

He toppled gracelessly to the ground and Amy threw an arm over him and plonked her head against his chest. “There,” she said, clearly satisfied. “That’s better.”

The Doctor stared up at the starry sky and tried very, very hard not to smell Amy’s hair. “This really isn’t necessary,” he said. “If you’d just let me get the TARDIS-,”

“Nope,” she said and damn it all, she did that thing with the “p” again. “S’nice. Like camping. You’re really warm by the way.”

“Two hearts,” he explained. “Keeps the blood flowing faster, so my internal temperature runs a bit higher than yours.”

“Mmm,” was Amy’s only reply as she burrowed closer to him, which brought her lips very close to the skin of his neck.

“Alright, no,” the Doctor said, trying to sit up. “I will not let my companion be bullied by a man painted like a Smurf. We’re going right back down to that camp, and I’m _insisting_ that they let you in-,”

Amy pressed him back down. “Oh, shut up,” she said with no real heat. “Besides, this is my trip, right? And I choose to spend it out here with you. Now lie down.” And with that, she flung one leg over his hips, effectively holding him in place. He heard the rasp of denim as her skirt rode up, and even through her tights and his trousers, her inner thigh was warm against him.

The Doctor froze as Amy snuggled nearer, her cheek on his collarbone and her thigh draped over his-

Amy raised her head. “Doctor?”

“What?” 

“Is that… I mean, are _you_ ,-”

“It’s nothing. It’s a-a biological response. Now take your leg off of me and go to sleep.”

Amy pushed herself up on one arm so that she could look down at him, but her leg stayed very much where it was. “So you work just like a regular bloke, then?” Eyes wide, she looked genuinely curious and more than a little delighted. “Because I was beginning to wonder if maybe you just didn’t have one, or if you did, maybe it wasn’t compatible with me.”

“Compatible?”

“Yeah. Like maybe it had spikes, or was made of tentacles.”

He knew he should just put a stop to this entire conversation right now. He should push her leg off of him, get up, and run back to camp as fast as he could. Because quite frankly, at this particular moment, a group of bloodthirsty Picts were far less terrifying than Amy Pond. 

But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, yes, every other part of me looks human, but that, _that_ is covered in spikes and tentacles.”

She giggled, and the sound went straight to both his hearts. “It would be just like you to have something strange going on down there.” She moved her leg back and forth just a little, and he had to bite back a groan. “Although truth be told, I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or insulted.”

He gripped her thigh with both hands, stilling her, but still not pushing her away. “What do you mean?”

Shrugging, Amy said, “Easier to tell myself you wouldn’t shag me because you couldn’t. Now that I know that you _can_ , I’m not sure what’s stopping you.”

“You’re-,” _Engaged_ , he almost said. But she wasn’t. Not anymore. The familiar guilt lanced through him, and this time, he gently pried her leg off of him. “You’re too young,” he finally said. “Too…too _human_.”

She gave a little hoot of laughter and nudged his knee with hers. “What does that mean?”

The Doctor kept his gaze on the sky. Her face was very close to his, and he was afraid that if he turned his head, her lips would be _right there_. “Humans, you… make certain promises with your bodies. There are-are _expectations_ that come along with physical intimacy, and I can never…,” He waved his hand, wishing there were one single word that could sum up all of the things he could never do, never _be_ , for Amelia Pond. “I can’t give you those things. Marriage and mortgages, and _stability_ -,” he practically spit out the word- “and I can’t do car pools, or potlucks.” He turned toward her, and yes, her lips were indeed _right there_. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask, what exactly _is_ a potluck? It sounds dreadful, and I-,”

Groaning, Amy flopped onto her back, throwing her arms over her head. “Oh, God, I don’t want to pick out china with you, you daft man! I want to travel through the universe, fixing things, and saving the day, and having mad adventures. And I thought it might be nice to add sex in there every once and awhile.” She glanced over at him, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to marry you anyway. You’d never do the washing up, and people would always be saying, ‘Aye, you’re the one married to that fella with no proper name who dresses like a git.’”

“Well, that’s just mean,” he said, but he smiled. After a moment, she smiled back. 

“D’you know,” Amy murmured, rolling onto her side. “I think all this marriage talk is just you trying to cover up the fact that it really _is_ covered in…well, okay, not spikes or tentacles, but something else weird. Like…fur or stripes or something.” She laid a hand on his breastbone. “Maybe it looks like a candy cane,” she said, eyes huge with mock innocence. “That would be _really_ disturbing.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Amy-,”

“I’ll never be able to sleep until I’ve satisfied my curiosity,” she said theatrically, rolling her eyes upward. And then, the dimples in her cheeks flashing, she slid her hand from his chest _downward._

She was fast, but he was faster. He grabbed her wrist before she could make contact, and twisted his body. Unfortunately, she tried to pull her hand back at the same time, and in the end, all he accomplished was rolling directly on top of her.

Amy laughed, her head back, her exposed throat pale in the moonlight. “Oh, God, I wasn’t really going to touch it, you idiot,” she giggled helplessly. “Did-did you actually _squeak?_ ”

“No,” he insisted, wishing he wasn’t so aware of her underneath him, of the vibrations of her body as she laughed. “I made a… a manly noise of outrage, which is a completely appropriate response when a person attempts to touch your… _person_ when you don’t want her to.”

Amy’s giggles trailed off as she met his eyes. She gave a little roll of her hips, and this time, there was no holding back the moan that escaped him. “Oh, you don’t want me to?” she purred. 

He was moving his hips along with hers now, which was really a very bad idea. Any moment now, he’d stop. “No,” he said. “I don’t want you to.”

She reached up and sank both of her hands into his hair, pulling his face closer to hers. “You don’t want _me_?”

“Not even a little,” he whispered, and he saw her lips quirk in response. 

“Isn’t it tiring, pretending not to want things all the time?”

“Exhausting.” 

He wasn’t sure who kissed whom first. All he knew was that their lips met, and then parted, and then her tongue…

The Doctor let himself give in so rarely that when he _did_ let go, he tended to do so spectacularly. This time was no exception. As he kissed Amy, his hand slid down her leg, jerking it up and around his waist. She made sound that was equal parts surprise and desire, and the kiss somehow got even wilder. Now he was wrenching his mouth away from hers to kiss her neck, and his hand was sliding up to cup her breast, and she was literally panting and pressing herself harder against him, and all he could think was, _Amy, Amy, Amy, gorgeous Amy, I’m going to make love to you under the stars, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…_

She shoved him onto his back and, straddling his hips, rose above him, her cheeks flushed, her mouth wet and swollen. “Shag me right now, and all is forgiven,” she said on a breathless laugh.

He went very still. “What?”

“You were saying ‘I’m sorry.’ But it’s okay,” she rolled her hips again and his hands, almost on their own accord, tightened on her waist, “this is _definitely_ sufficient payback for fourteen bloody years.”

He looked up at her, his Amy, triumphant and wicked and so beautiful he ached. Amy, from whom he taken so much. Amy, who he could never repay, not with fantastic adventures, or amazing sights, or even his own body. 

And then, as gently as he could, he pulled her down to his chest. She grinned, obviously thinking he meant to kiss her. Instead, he rolled them both to the side, tucking her against him, and tenderly but firmly pressing her head to his shoulder. “Go to sleep, Amelia.”

“Seriously?” she asked, her voice muffled. “After that, we’re _still_ not going to-,”

“No.”

He expected her to fight. To yell at him, or hit him, or try to kiss him again. A not-so-tiny part of him hoped that she _would_ kiss him again, because he was at least 99% sure he wouldn’t be able to resist, and at least he could say he had _tried_.

But instead, she blew out a long breath and settled her cheek over one of his heartbeats. “I will never understand you, Doctor.”

“I’m an alien. You’re not meant to.”

She made a little sound that might have been a laugh. And then, “It’s inevitable, you know. You and me.” She didn’t sound sultry or sexy or even insistent. She was just matter-of-fact.

And she was, he realized with a bolt of terror, absolutely right. 


End file.
